


The Coffee Prince

by Mairi Nathaira (Tara)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Humour, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tara/pseuds/Mairi%20Nathaira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The masterminds of the WWW decide to expand their business by opening up a coffee shop, and Harry becomes the new barista — much to George’s horror and delight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coffee Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katmarajade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/gifts).



> Written for 2011 HP Porn in the Sun. Many thanks to Thilia, Luvscharlie, Songquake, and Lexin for helping me brainstorm through this! Huge love to Ayla Pascal and Songquake for betaing this!

George took a sip of his coffee. It took every bit of his control to not spit it back out as the disgusting taste penetrated his taste buds.

 _What in Medusa's saggy tits did they put in here? Dishwater? This tastes like shite!_ George grimaced and shoved the cup away from him, not caring one bit that it sloshed over the rim and spilled, and stared gloomily out the window of the coffee shop in Diagon Alley. Many wizards and witches passed by him, all looking happy and content, and he didn't miss the fact that he saw more couples than singles or groups.

Everyone was busy being in love, but George was stuck in a business meeting. Not to mention he was stuck with his only companion at night -- his hands -- and even that didn't guarantee full satisfaction. Mentally groaning, he shut his eyes tightly, remembering what had happened last night. Fred and Angelina had been going at it like horny Kneazles in the next room, and they'd forgotten to put up a Silencing Charm. He was the poor unfortunate soul who had to endure three hours of "Mmm, more! Oh, so good! There, right there, baby! I'm coming, oh Merlin!"

It was like listening to bad porn, _really_ bad porn. He was surprised his dick hadn't shrivelled up and died yesterday.

He sighed and forced last night's experience out of his head and thought about his business meeting. He was to meet his silent business partner to discuss this new business proposal he and Fred had thought up, and he was going to keep things professional between them -- never mind that he'd had the longest secret crush on Harry Potter. It was a secret he'd carry to his grave. Not even his own twin knew about his crush.

And George had no intention of fucking things up between him and Harry with this crush. Sure, Harry had come out as being gay, but there was no way in Merlin's scratchy beard Harry would ever go for a bloke like himself -- even as marvellous as he was. Not when there were better candidates like, say, Oliver Wood (never mind the fact that _he_ was currently bonking Percy, the stuffiest and the stiffest bloke alive) and Viktor Krum. Somehow it just seemed more fitting for Harry to prefer a Quidditch Star -- which was not far-fetched since Harry himself was a fantastic Seeker.

 _At least I know I've no self-esteem issues . . . I think. I mean, I know I'm a bloody great catch, but not for someone like Harry!_ George sighed again and eyed the dreadful coffee with contempt, and he shifted because his bottom had grown very sore. _First the coffee, now these chairs. Are these shop owners aware of these things? No wonder this shop is empty as a library!_

Thankfully, Harry rushed in, and George could stop thinking about his tongue and his bum.

"Sorry I'm late!" Harry breathed out, as he plopped down across from George. "Ron and Hermione had some sort of a minor disagreement, so I had to listen to Ron's whinging and help him think up a way to make up with Hermione."

George stifled back a groan, wondering for the umpteenth time what Ron and Hermione saw in each other. "It's all right."

Harry grinned and looked around the empty shop. "I've never been here before."

From the corner of his eyes, he could see the shop workers looking excited as they babbled to each other in hushed whispers. George refrained from rolling his eyes, knowing full well why they acted like they'd got their pants in the Whomping Willow's crutch; instead, he decided to look at Harry. It'd been a while since they'd last met. Harry had gone off to travel the world. The last time he'd seen Harry was several years ago; they'd kept in contact about the Wheezes' business matter by Owls. So George discreetly studied Harry, wondering if Harry had changed any over the years.

Gone was the scrawny boy he'd last seen. Harry had filled out quite nicely, judging by his broader chest and shoulders. His wild hair was still uncontrollable as usual, but it was longer now; it was pulled back into a short ponytail, and with his fringe, it gave Harry a very shaggy appearance that made him look rogue-like. These were the two biggest, obvious changes, but there was a single change that really appealed to George. It was quite subtle, but George could see it in Harry's eyes. They no longer appeared sad and troubled; they looked free and happy.

The changes made Harry more appealing than ever. George had a feeling he'd need a loo and some lotion after this meeting.

"This is my first time, too," George admitted, wanting to get his brain to think of something else because he didn't want to go through this meeting with a stiff cock. "I don't recommend their coffee or their chairs. I think my arse would find more comfort on rocks than these," he added.

"That bad?" Harry laughed and grabbed George's abandoned coffee and sniffed at it. His nose scrunched up, and he quickly set the cup down. "Well, it does smell terrible." He glanced at the menu. "Think their teas would come out like your coffee?"

"You could try, but I have to warn you that it's been about fifteen minutes since I drank that thing, and the taste is still in my mouth!"

Harry looked troubled. "Well, I'll risk it. I'd feel bad coming here and not getting something." Giving George a sheepish smile, he ordered a cup of the shop's "Special Earl Grey" tea. It arrived a minute later, and Harry stared at it the cup like it was one of Hagrid's rock cakes.

George looked at it, paled, and felt his stomach churn unpleasantly. "I know there are many kinds of tea in the world, but is there such a thing as _purple_ tea?"

"I'm not sure." Harry took a tentative sip, and George immediately knew from Harry's puckered lips and his wrinkly forehead that the tea was just as bad as his coffee. George stifled his laughter as he watched Harry give the cup the same sloshing treatment he'd done earlier. Harry cleared his throat. "So you and Fred have a new business idea? What is it?"

"Oh, that." George couldn't help but grin at the irony. "See, Fred and I want to expand our business."

"How?"

"The shop next door became vacant, so we're thinking about starting up a--" George's smile grew wider, and he lowered his voice, "--a coffee shop."

"A coffee shop?" Harry repeated. His eyes became heavy-lidded as he mused over the idea. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to have another one in Diagon Alley, but . . . "

"Yes?"

"No offence to you and Fred, but do you think the customers would really trust whatever you sell to them that requires consumption?"

"None taken, mate." George's grin grew wider. "Fred and I thought ahead on that. See, we're going to name the shop _The Coffeenator_ , so customers won't realise it's part of our business."

Harry's eyes opened wide and his eyebrows disappeared under his fringe. "The Coffee . . . nator?"

"It's a wotchermacallit, a port-something on combining 'coffee' and 'procrastinator' together. Our goal for the shop is to make it a place for people to relax and procrastinate on their life -- you know, let them have fun with delicious coffee."

"I see. That makes sense, but don't be surprised if you get customers thinking something entirely different with the name of your shop."

"Huh?"

Harry waved a hand. "It's a Muggle film reference. Nothing to worry about it, really, since I doubt most wizards and witches will know about _The Terminator_."

 _The who, the what?_ George made a mental note to look up this Terminator thing later. "Anyway, that's our plan. What do you think?"

"I like it. I don't see any problems with it. Just don't sell awful drinks like this place," Harry whispered, his green eyes twinkling.

"Of course not. And don't worry! Fred and I won't be making the coffee. We're going to have to find ourselves a good coffee person."

"A barista. That's the coffee person in charge of making the coffee and espresso-based drinks."

George nodded, impressed that Harry knew this fact. "Right. I just hope whoever we get won't make dishwater-flavoured coffees and rainbow-coloured mochas or whatever."

Harry leaned closer towards George, looking rather excited. "I could do it. Not sell those disgusting drinks, but I wouldn't mind being a barista for your shop."

"Wha--?" Now George's eyebrows went up high and his eyes grew large. "You'd want to work there?"

Harry nodded. "During my travels, I visited a lot of coffee shops. I actually grew addicted to them." He rubbed the back of his head and his smile appeared sheepish. "It wasn't long before I got to know the baristas of each shop, and they trained and showed me how to make the drinks. I learned pretty fast. I guess all those chores I did when I was young came in handy."

"But I thought you wanted to become an Auror after you finish travelling."

"I've changed my mind. I'd rather make good coffee for people and watch them enjoy a good cuppa rather than do paperwork and deal with bureaucratic headaches."

George nodded, understanding where Harry was coming from. He smiled slowly, realising that he'd just found their barista, and it took less time than he and Fred had been expecting. Plus, it was with someone he knew he could work with, someone with a sense of humour -- something he and Fred both agreed that good employees must have -- and Harry definitely had that. He was also relieved they wouldn't have to go through about a thousand interviews to find that one barista they'd want. "Well, do what makes you happy. I think it's fucking brill to have you as our barista." He extended out a hand and clasped Harry's. "Welcome to the Coffeenator, Mr Barista."

Was it George's imagination or did Harry's grip tighten? It was probably his imagination since Harry let go and said, "Don't you need to talk to Fred about this?"

George shook his head. "Naw, mate, Fred would've agreed. Besides, this is a ruddy fantastic idea, so no need to worry!"

Harry smiled shyly, making George's insides twist in a familiar way, and said, "All right. Let's get the boring part out of the way. You've got the paperwork?"

* * *

 _Oh for Wendy Wanker's sake! Where's Trelawney's smelly gunk when I need it? I think I'd rather be oxygen-deprived right about now before I make a complete arse of myself!_

George felt like chocolate. He was seriously about to melt and become a pile of George-goo, and it was all because of Harry.

Sure, Harry had always made his insides turn into jelly before, but seeing Harry in his barista outfit nearly turned George into an absolute mess.

The barista outfit was ridiculously simple. It consisted of a crisp white shirt, a black waistcoat, a black tie, a pair of black trousers, a black waist apron, _and_ a pair of black shoes. Really, it was nothing fancy, but on Harry, it looked absolutely classy.

And shag-worthy. When George looked at Harry's backside, it became even more apparent that Harry had filled out over the years. His arse looked, especially when framed by the apron, so fucking sexy and well-defined in those trousers.

Harry gave a shy smile. "How does it look?"

"Not bad!" Fred exclaimed, reminding George that he wasn't alone and that he'd better stop gawking like an overgrown git.

George unglued his tongue and tried to keep his voice neutral. "It looks good."

Harry's smiled wider, and George clenched his fists in his pockets. _Think of naked Hagrid doing things with that Beauxbatons bird. Think of crabby old Aberforth tending to his goats. Think of McGonagall in a corset. Don't think of Harry bent over the counters. Don't let his smile get to you. Most of all, don't reach out and grab his arse!_

For the past few weeks, whenever Harry was near him, which occurred quite often since they'd all been working together to get the Coffeenator up and running, George'd had many of those monologues with himself. Somehow or other, he'd been the one to work with Harry the most in the new shop while Fred stayed at the Wheezes to keep things running there. All those days with Harry, who was so near to touch, but off-limits, drove him mad.

He'd thought having Harry as their barista was a brilliant idea.

Now he was begging to differ. It was still a good idea, but who was it good for? Certainly not George, not when his libido kept on demanding to be unleashed. Not when he kept fantasising on Harry's lips, wondering if they were soft, wishing he could run his hands through Harry's shaggy hair and all over that hard body and that arse that begged to be grabbed. Really, this was torture -- a good form of torture -- but torture nonetheless!

George caught Fred looking at him strangely and flashed a grin. He shoved aside his overactive imagination and turned towards the new monstrosity in the shop -- the espresso machine and an espresso grinder. Like his father, he'd always had a thing for Muggle machines, but these unfamiliar machines looked really intimidating. There were magical espresso machines out in the market, but Harry, used to preparing coffee the Muggle way, preferred the Muggle version.

That wasn't a problem. Just as long as George didn't have to operate it. He saw Harry do something with it, causing steam to come out, and decided he preferred steam from cauldrons. That seemed less dangerous at any rate.

"Oh, hey, how do you two feel about selling pastries here?" Harry's voice cut through his thoughts. "Along with the drinks, I was thinking we could sell simple pastries. We could keep the menu short -- maybe rotate three items every week? I can make scones, biscuits, and cakes -- things from those categories."

George looked at Fred, and then they both nodded at Harry.

"I call the cake!" Fred said.

"And I call the scones!" George chimed right after, glad to be thinking of something not Harry-related.

"All right, then let's go look at some ovens!" Harry suggested, looking excited. "Then I'll need a couple of days getting used to these machines." His gaze lingered at George before he continued, "And you two can be the first ones to try my coffee and pastry!"

Harry's enthusiasm was contagious. George found himself eagerly looking forward to that.

* * *

"More, Fred! So fucking good! Ah, ah, ah!"

"Angelina, oh, yes, baby! I just love your tits!"

They'd forgotten to use the Silencing Charm. Again. That meant George had to endure another round of bad porn. _Again_.

George grabbed his pillow and covered his ears with it, hoping he could drown out their primal and crude love-making. That didn't work. He then wished longingly for Harry's invisibility cloak; he'd sneak into their room and cast the damn charm himself since these two inconsiderate gits never remember to do it!

The banging on his wall mercifully stopped and was soon replaced with light snoring. _Fina-fucking-ly!_ George loosened his hold on his pillow and stared at the ceiling, studying the cracks as his mind wandered.

He realised he felt envious that Fred had someone he could be with to make all those animalistic noises together. Sure, George was annoyed that Fred never remembered to cast that one little charm, but he was happy for Fred. Really, he was . . . but he felt envious. And lonely. Ever since he'd figured out he swung the other way, he'd actually felt separated from his own twin. All their life, they'd been Fred and George, Gred and Forge, never apart, always together. As they grew older, things had started to change. In their sixth year, Fred had begun to fancy Angelina, but George hadn't fancied anybody. While Fred had started to date Angelina after the Yule Ball, George felt no inclinations to date any girls.

When George's crush on Harry began, that was when he realised just how different identical twins could be. It was his own private revelation, and even years later, he still had never really accepted it.

Since then he'd understood just how different he was from Fred. He was the quieter of the two, more thoughtful and careful (not by much, but just a smidgen!). Whenever Fred wanted something, he'd go after it without a second thought. George, on the other hand, would actually think his decision through, depending on the situation, and that was obvious with the way they approached relationships.

George sighed. _I sound like an old coot._ He closed his eyes; Aberforth's grumpy face came into his mind. He shuddered. _Okay, I don't want to end up anything like that ol' goat herder! I better do something to change this. Yes, I had better! No asking Fred for help, either. Not that he knows I like Harry or anything, but I've got to try and do this by myself._

And this was the beginning of George's new mission -- to try and get Harry. At least then he could say he had tried!

* * *

George didn't really have much time to concentrate on his mission. He had other things to focus on -- mainly his new business.

The Coffeenator hadn't opened yet -- its grand opening would be next week -- but George came over to help Harry with the shop while Fred stayed in their shop. That day Harry had insisted on George doing some taste-testing.

George took a seat at the bar, choosing that over the seats by the window because he wanted to be closer to Harry. Sure, the bar separated him from Harry, but from the high seat he had a great view of Harry. In fact, with Harry turned around to work the espresso machine, he had the best view of Harry's arse, looking tight and tempting as usual in those trousers. His whole body itched with desire, as realisation dawned on how he could easily lean over the bar and grab it; instead, he grabbed a copy of the menu, and he proceeded to doodle on it, desperate to keep his hands busy while his eyes never strayed from Harry's lovely backside.

Harry puttered around, doing things so fast that George had no idea exactly what he was doing. He saw a billow of blinding white steam, heard something hiss like Crookshanks on a bad fur day, smelled something sweet that made his tooth ache, and sensed comforting warmth all around him as Harry moved with such speed and finesse that it left him dizzy.

Harry soon plunked a tray in front of him. On it were three different pastries and three cups of steaming coffee. George looked at it in surprise. "That's a lot."

"And it's all for you!"

George laughed, remembering that this was Harry Potter, the most generous bloke he knew.

He remembered the first time he'd met Harry. He fondly thought about the young boy he'd passed on Platform 9 and 3/4, who was scrawny with messy black hair, huge green eyes, and glasses that looked like they'd been taped together one too many times. The nameless boy was just another bloke to him at the time, nobody he really wanted to get to know then, but George later got to know Harry as a fellow Gryffindor, a Quidditch player, and a friend.

It wasn't until George's sixth year that everything changed; he would never forget that one night that changed everyone's lives, the night of the third task. Cedric Diggory had died, Harry had almost died, and Voldemort had come back to "life". When George had seen Harry lying on the hospital bed, looking fragile yet determined and strong, he saw a boy becoming a man. He believed in Harry's conviction that Voldemort had returned, and his respect for Harry grew when he heard how Harry had gone through and survived yet another encounter with Voldemort.

He was astounded by Harry's generosity that night as well. Harry had selflessly given away 1000 Galleons to Fred and himself, and George's crush began that very day. It intensified over the next few years as Harry grew up, saved the world again, and became quite a catch.

A catch George hadn't nabbed yet because he needed to grow some balls if he wanted to go anywhere with his deeply-suppressed desires. A catch who, currently, was right in front of him, smiling eagerly. Harry pointed at the pastries, and George stared at the long digits instead of the mouth-watering treats. He immediately thought of kissing them first and then slipping one of them into his mouth as he sucked and teased it until Harry flushed with desire. To him, that finger was only an appetiser. He'd quickly move onto Harry's mouth, a luscious side-dish that would allow him to taste Harry even further, snogging deeply until they were both breathless. Once he had his full share, he'd go on to the entrée farther down . . .

 _George Weasley! Wake up, you sod! Business first! And no, you cannot have a Potter Puff on your personal menu!_

George cleared his throat and asked, "So what are these?"

"This here is a blueberry scone, an almond biscotti, and a chocolate fondant pudding. As for your drinks, that's a latte, a cappuccino, and a mocha. Along with your basic espresso drinks, as you can see on the menu, I've also included hot chocolate and a variety of teas. The drinks will be served hot or cold, depending on the customer's choice."

"Looks like you've pretty much got the whole thing figured out." George couldn't help but feel impressed. Then again, he should've known better than to think Harry would do anything half-arsed. He picked up his fork and began to sample the pastries.

They were all spectacular. The scones were perfectly baked, and it was a great combination with the clotted cream. The biscotti had a nice crunch to it and a subtle almond flavour. But his absolute favourite was the chocolate fondant pudding. He had no idea what Harry had done to it, but it was rich, moist, and just so fucking _wonderful_. Everything he ate meshed well with the drinks, which tasted so much better than that shite he'd had in that unmentionable place.

"How is it?" Harry asked.

"Before I say my piece, do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Don't ever tell Mum that your stuff is brilliant and better than her baked pastries! I mean, Holy Hemlock, Harry, this is some fantastic stuff!"

Harry blushed, making himself look even more desirable; George wasn't certain just how much his libido would be able to take that day.

"Um, thanks. I won't tell her." Harry ducked his red face, but not before George caught the bashful smile.

"Thanks, mate. However, I do have a question." George looked down at the menu he doodled on. "What's the difference between an espresso, an Americano, a latte, a cappuccino, a mocha, a macchiato, and whatever else you've got listed here?"

Harry laughed, his blush fading away, and George sat and listened to his coffee lesson. Harry was truly knowledgeable with all this coffee info, and it showed not only in Harry's explanation, but in his body language and in his voice tone.

George looked at Harry's posture, the way he carried himself with confidence that he had lacked back in school. Maybe it was the baggy clothes he wore back at Hogwarts, but he no longer appeared like he was slouching all the time. George could appreciate the form-fitting barista outfit on Harry (again, images of Harry's beautiful arse flashed at him) and the self-assurance Harry had now, yet there was also still that bit of shyness lingering in Harry's aura, and George found himself falling deeper and deeper for him.

With his head now full of coffee knowledge -- most of which would be forgotten in an hour since he was still confused by all the terminology and the different methods for preparing each drink -- George decided to give his brain a rest and he stared at his messy scratches on the menu. He wrote a phrase and stared at it. "I think I've just thought up a clever slogan we can use for this shop."

"Oh?" Harry raised an eyebrow as he sipped on his latteccino or whatever it was called.

George cleared his throat and announced importantly, "'You'll be back'." He stared when Harry spewed his drink across the bar and started to cough. He held up his hands into a defensive stance. "I solemnly swear I didn't put anything in your drink."

Harry stopped coughing. He looked at George, eyes a bit moist, and said, "It's not that. I know you didn't slip anything into my coffee. It's just . . . well, the name of the shop and that slogan?" His lips curved slightly. "I reckon a bunch of Muggle-borns will be wary of this place at first. Well, maybe not wary, but at the least they'll be very amused."

George looked confused. "Uh, all right?"

"I'll have to borrow those films from Hermione sometime and show them to you and Fred. Oh, and if you want to add that slogan to the menu, better let Dean and Seamus know. Seamus is probably going to bite your head off, though. He hates last minute changes -- even if Dean's the one doing the actual designing. Thank Merlin Dean can calm Seamus down, at least."

Still perplexed by the whole shop name and slogan situation -- hell, even Dean had chortled his noggin off with no explanation -- George just said, "All right. I'll let that hothead know. Then again, if he does get his a stick up his arse, I'll get out our Slumbering Stink-Socks. One whiff of that will knock him out -- he'll start a bagpipe solo that'll put Fang's snoring to shame."

Harry sniggered. "Anyway, I noticed you seemed to favour the cappuccino and the chocolate fondant pudding more than the others. Want some more?"

* * *

"This latte is so smooth! Way better than that other place!"

"The scone! It doesn't taste like it's been magically processed."

"Finally! Tea that's not hot pink!"

"So rich, so flavourful. My friends will die for this chocolate fondant pudding!"

George smiled as he walked past the various customers, pleased by all the compliments he heard from them. The Coffeenator, so far, was a success. Once word got out that the barista was none other than Harry Potter, many people -- some from as far as the United States -- had come to visit the shop. Even on their first day, they had people waiting in lines that extended towards the back-end of Diagon Alley. This had been predicted, so Harry and George had arranged for three wizarding guards -- three muscular men who were named Huey, Dewey, and Louie -- to be at the shop to make sure nobody did anything harmful. Their presence turned out to be a good thing; in fact, when a lot of Muggle-borns (Hermione and Dean included) saw Huey, they all backed away from him. George had heard Dean muttering something about Huey resembling an Arnie Shoemaker.

"Who's that?" George had asked.

"Who's who?"

"That shoemaker bloke."

Dean frowned. "What shoemaker -- oh! You mean Arnold Schwarzenegger?" He started to snigger. "He's an actor who played in that movie, _The Terminator_ , which I'm guessing is what this shop is named after?"

 _Not that movie again! I've got to remind Harry to get them like he mentioned before!_ George explained the meaning behind the name before he remembered to say, "By the way, mate. Thanks for calming Seamus down when we wanted to change the menu design. I'm glad I didn't have to waste a pair of Slumbering Stink-Socks on him!"

"Er, yes, that." Dean blushed. "Thankfully, snogging him usually shuts him up when he starts ranting." Quickly, he glanced at the menu. "I'm short on time. I came to get a take-away. But don't worry, I'll be back."

George grinned widely. "Oh, yes. _You'll_ be back."

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned. "I still can't believe you came up with that slogan without knowing the Terminator reference."

"I will one of these days." George clasped Dean's shoulder. "Now, go get your take-away."

George's eyes swept over the busy shop. Glancing at the hired help who assisted in the shop, hearing the various conversations from the customers, and inhaling the wonderful coffee and pastry aromas, his gaze lingered on Harry the longest. Harry looked up and their eyes made contact. Harry flashed George a smile that promptly flustered him, but he managed to keep his composure and smile back, ignoring all the flapping noises he heard from his stomach. He quickly gave Harry one final wave and dashed out of the shop and rounded the corner, where he nearly collided into Ginny.

"Son of a pixie!" George gasped, reaching out to steady himself against the wall. "You all right?" He saw that Neville was behind Ginny, his hands on her shoulders, protecting her. He nodded his greeting at Neville.

Ginny scowled at him, pulling herself out of Neville's hands. "I'm all right, but what bit your arse? Did you prank someone important so they are now after your brainless head?"

"Please." George smirked. "If I prank someone important, I'll do it with subtlety and finesse -- nobody would guess it's me or Fred! Besides, Gin, is it that time of the month for you? Why so thorny?"

It was interesting how her face turned so red that Ginny's hairline all but disappeared. She crossed her arms and then it was her turn to smirk. "Oh? Jealous that you aren't getting any? And I'll let you know that it's not _that time of the month_ . . . yet."

George and Neville both blushed hard. George covered his ears and yelled, "Way too much info!"

"You asked!" Ginny declared smugly. She stuck out her tongue at him (he was so glad she didn't Bat-Bogey him!) and then grabbed the still-red Neville's hand. "As a matter of fact, whenever I'm near that _time_ , I start craving chocolate. So I'm off to have some of that chocolate fondant thing!" She disappeared into the store, dragging Neville behind her.

George stalked off, not caring that he just walked past the Wheezes. Ginny's barb about him not getting any was true. In fact, he was the _only_ Weasley not getting any. Bill and Fleur were married, Charlie was with that one Slytherin bird who'd been in Harry's year, Percy had Oliver, Fred and Angelina were definitely bonking each other, Ron and Hermione apparently fought a lot and had hot make-up sex, and lastly there were Ginny and Neville. _Then_ there were his parents, but he did not want to think about his mum and dad doing anything consisting of hormones, libido, and bodily fluids. Just, _no_.

He was the odd Weasley out. Ginny's comment only made him feel worse about it.

He thought about Harry, remembering how that one smile alone earlier had made his stomach do a Wronski Feint despite never being a Seeker himself.

He thought about asking Harry out. He figured it couldn't hurt. Harry could say yes, and then all would be right in his world. But then if Harry said no . . . it could make their friendship awkward and unpleasant, a situation he wanted to avoid altogether.

George turned around and slowly walked back to the Wheezes. He'd sort this out later. Right now he had to go help out Fred in their invention room.

* * *

George didn't have time to figure anything out.

Two days after that Ginny encounter, Joey, one of the hired help, became sick with Scrofungulus. The recovery time, according to the healers at St Mungo's, was going to take an entire month or maybe two. Instead of replacing him, and because it was a slow time of the year at the Wheezes, George became the step-in at the Coffeenator.

Somehow or another, though, things went to shite. Or maybe Ginny had cursed him with something like the _Clumsia Charm_. Whatever it was, George was mortified about all his accidents.

To his credit, the first couple of days went fine. He'd finally got his coffee terminology straightened out and even learned how to operate the espresso machine and the grinder without any major problems.

His problems began after one stupid accident.

It happened during closing time. Harry and he were the only ones left. They both decided to have a cuppa before finishing the rest of their closing time chores. They both sat at the bar, relaxing with their respective drinks -- a mocha for Harry and an iced chai for himself.

They talked about their daily inventory and laughed about some of the weirder customers they'd encountered.

George then picked up his glass to take a long sip. He brought the glass back down onto the bar. In a blink, the glass had toppled over, the rest of his drink spilling onto Harry's lap.

"Bugger me to Mars!" George shouted as he grabbed some paper napkins and began to mop up the liquid. On Harry's trouser-clad legs (the apron was off already and hanging in the back). On Harry's _crotch_. He stilled and looked up at Harry's reddened face, feeling warmth emanating from Harry's groin. He stared into Harry's green eyes, but he lowered his gazed to the parted lips. He saw the tip of Harry's tongue wetting his bottom lips; George was absolutely mesmerised. His hands were hot. No, not his hands. Harry's groin was burning up, and something stirred inside of him, too, and he felt heat deep inside of him.

"Er, George?" Harry's breathy voice snapped George back to reality.

George blushed and quickly snatched his hands away. "Fucking hell. Sorry, mate!" He backed away and looked everywhere but at Harry.

"You--"

"I'll go wash the dishes in the back!" George cut him off and headed into the kitchen. There, he launched a thousand curses at his idiotic self.

 _I'm a twit-faced idiot! Why did I not think? Why did I touch him like that? What's he going to think now? And I ran off like a whimpering pansy! I'm a fucking git!_

George continued to curse as he washed the dishes manually, too upset to think about washing them with magic. Oddly enough, that calmed him. The running water was loud, and it helped block out his inner voice, and the soaping and rinsing didn't require any major thoughts, so that put his mind into a meditative state. When he finished, he was able to face Harry by pretending nothing had happened. Thankfully, Harry acted the same way. They parted with their usual goodbyes, and George went back to the flat, desperately wanting to sleep off the rest of his embarrassment and start the next day without any problems.

* * *

But George's problems were only beginning.

Little things kept happening to him, and they only occurred when Harry was near him. Once, he slipped on some water and landed right on his arse in front of Harry and everyone else in the shop, and it was all because he'd ogled and worshipped Harry's lovely bum for a few seconds. Another time, Harry handed him a mug of coffee, and he was supposed to take that to a customer who was too lazy to come get it herself. Unfortunately, his fingers met Harry's, and his muscles chose to conk out on him then, so he dropped the mug and ended up burning his hand. Oh, and he broke the mug, too.

They were really minor accidents, but George still felt humiliated by them.

Then came the wet Harry accident.

No, wait, it was the espresso-machine-"explosion"-plus-wet-Harry accident.

Thankfully there was nobody else in the shop when this happened. Still, that didn't really make things any better.

What happened was that George did something -- he wasn't quite sure what he did, but he did something -- and the next thing he knew, it sort of, for the lack of a better word, _exploded_ on Harry. Meaning, that blasted machine went out of control and sent out a huge gush of water at Harry, covering him from his head to his toes. Fortunately, the water wasn't hot, but on the cool side. It had to be cold because Harry's nipples became erect.

And Harry had removed his waistcoat and tie, but left his white shirt and his trousers on. A white shirt, which had got wet, and it was against Harry's bare skin. George could see through it _very_ well. A water droplet slowly trickled down Harry's pale neck, making George want to lick a nice trail along the side. He'd then go down to the two stiff nubs; George would then reach out and touch them, rub them between his fingers and make them stick out even more. Then he'd cover one of them with his mouth, and he'd lick and suck it, all the while listening to Harry's breathy moans urging him on.

By now they'd both be aroused. George would keep the wet shirt on Harry; he'd remove Harry's trousers and pants instead, and he'd pick Harry up and set him on the bar, just so he could have an easier time treating himself to Harry's inviting cock. Nothing wrong with a little taste.

Or maybe he'd just grind his own throbbing cock against Harry's, and the amazing friction from their intense movement would make them both come in utter bliss as they shouted each other's names. Then he'd finally kiss Harry deeply, his tongue busying itself in Harry's inviting mouth, exploring and tasting at its own pace. And when they'd have to break apart to breathe in the much needed air, Harry's lips would look so red and swollen, and his green eyes would be heavy-lidded and he'd say, "Again."

But damn his foolishness. Instead of enacting any of those tempting scenarios, George just calmly waved his wand and dried Harry off, regretting it instantly when the white shirt became opaque. He glanced at the machine and asked, "Do Muggle espresso machines usually shoot out water like that?"

Harry shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. Maybe because it's surrounded by magic, it became affected?"

"Maybe. Though it would be the first time a case like this happened."

"We'll have to look into it." Harry smiled lightly. "Thanks for drying me off."

George just waved his hands, wanting to end this night quickly so he could go take care of a new, yet familiar, problem he was stuck with at the moment. A problem that required privacy, lotion, and tissue. "I'm sorry for whatever I did to it. Maybe the machine just hates me. I'll call in a Magical Appliance Maintenance bloke and ask him to inspect this. I'll, erm, go wash the dishes."

Again, George made his escape to wash those dishes, but he did it after a quick visit to the loo.

* * *

"You're my brother, right?" Fred asked while they were eating fish and chips.

George looked up in surprise. "Right."

"I'm your twin," Fred said as a statement.

He had a bad feeling about this conversation, but he just nodded and repeated, "Right."

Fred's expression hardened and his eyes narrowed. "Then why have you never told me you fancy Harry Potter all these years?"

"Oh, er . . . " George closed his eyes. Of course he should have guessed that Fred might have known his secret. They were twins. He should have known better than to think he could be successful at hiding his feelings from Fred. He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. How was he going to explain his mixed up feelings to Fred? Those feelings of loneliness, the self-induced separation he somehow started to put between him and Fred because he didn't feel like a twosome with his own twin -- how was he to explain all that without sounding like an absolute wanker?

"You thought that if you admitted your crush, it would make us different, didn't you? You thought our connection would be weakened. So you decided to just keep it to yourself and just try to go through this alone."

It was strange seeing Fred this serious. True, George was the more serious twin compared to Fred, but Fred did have his serious moments, when he was also shrewd and perceptive. This was one of those moments.

Knowing that it would be pointless to lie now, George took the straightforward route. He met Fred's eyes and answered, "Yeah, you're spot on."

"Those accidents you've been having around Harry pretty much gave it all away. I think even someone like Trelawney could have figured it out."

"Shut up," George muttered, feeling his cheeks getting warm.

Fred looked at him with a knowing expression. "What will you do now? Are you going to keep besmirching our good name by acting like a sod in love? Or are you going to grab opportunity's balls and declare your undying romance to a certain Mr Potter?"

"No--"

"Don't say nothing, Georgie--" George glared at his most hated nickname, "--or I will do something you will not like."

"You wouldn't."

"If I have to, I'll tell Harry myself. And I'll never remember to put up a Silencing Charm when Angelina and I--"

"Okay, okay, _okay_!" Geoge's face scrunched up in horror at the idea of being subjected to bad pornography for the next millennium. Something he was sure Fred would make him suffer through even if he ever got his own place. "I'll do it!"

Fred smirked. "Great. You have two days to do it. I really don't want to hear about any more love-struck accidents at the Coffeenator."

George spelled a Skunk Pie -- one of their products -- to hit Fred's face as his response. He ignored Fred's curses and thought about how he was going to tell Harry that he liked him.

* * *

Two days later, George was a mess inside. He constantly wiped his hands on his trousers until he could feel the wetness soak through the material. Whenever he was near Harry, he had to take deep breaths so he wouldn't start hyperventilating. He was so flustered that he decided not to deal with the customers that day, opting to have dirty dishes as his company and suffer having pruney hands. Thankfully, he didn't have any more embarrassing accidents, yet when it was time for closing, he desperately wanted something to happen.

He came out from the back and went to the espresso machine and touched it; he waited to see if it'd do anything. It didn't. It remained inanimate, but George felt like the machine was mocking him somehow, so he glared at it, begging it to do something so he could have a good excuse to hold this task off for another day.

The stupid sodding machine just stayed still. Before he could punch it, he heard Harry come up behind him.

"George? You all right?"

George spun around and saw Harry looking concerned. "I'm fine," he managed out in a steady voice, so glad his voice didn't crack! "I'm just, er, still trying to figure out that water explosion."

"Yeah, I'm still confused about that, too. Then again, the maintenance bloke couldn't figure it out, so maybe it was just a one-time thing."

"Maybe."

"Hey, I could go for some latte. You want anything?"

"Hot milk." That should be better than tea or coffee. He really didn't think he could handle any extra caffeine right now.

Harry nodded and busied himself behind the bar. George took a seat across from him, and he watched Harry work. It didn't take long before Harry sat next to him and handed him a steaming cup of milk.

"Here you go." Harry's warm breath ghosted over his ears; George suppressed his shiver, grabbing onto his cup as his personal lifeline.

"Thanks."

They drank in a companionable silence. Having Harry so close made George feel dizzy as he breathed in Harry's wonderful, intoxicating scent. George took a deep breath. "Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I . . . " It was on the tip of his tongue. He only had to say those three words -- three _difficult_ words -- but while his mind was ready to say them, his tongue decided to freeze up.

Harry gave a side-glance with a slight frown. "No offence, but are you really all right? You're acting very strange."

 _Great balls of Hades! Where's that Gryffindor courage of yours?! Just say it, you twit!_ Somehow, he heard Fred through their twin connection -- something that hadn't happened in ages -- and he finally said it after he remembered Fred's threat about the Silencing Charm.

"I like you!" George shouted, startling both Harry and himself. He focused his gaze on the bar's surface, quickly lowered his voice, and said, "I like you. I've liked you for a long time. I know you like blokes like I do, but I wasn't sure you'd ever like me -- please don't think I've got a low self-esteem, I don't -- and I didn't want to ruin our friendship over all this, so I didn't tell you before. And I'm sorry I didn't, but I . . . oh, fuck it! I can't stop thinking about you, so that's why all those accidents happened, except for that machine. Now that machine, I swear it must be possessed because I didn't do anything to it, and it decided to turn into a waterfall on you, but never mind about that ruddy machine, but--"

Thankfully, Harry stopped him from babbling. George appreciated it. Really he did. He just didn't expect Harry to kiss him. But he was being kissed by Harry, and it felt so, so, _so_ good. Harry's lips were so hot and so soft, and they became more so when he kissed back, tongues and all, and oh, Harry tasted delicious -- better than any of the pastries and coffees he'd been having since this shop opened. His arms automatically wrapped around Harry's neck, and he grabbed Harry's head in the back, threading his fingers through the loose ponytail, and pulled him closer until they were both off their bar stools. George felt the bar digging into his back, but he didn't care. They continued to snog each other heatedly. It was actually an awkward kiss -- Harry's glasses were in the way, and he could feel them poking his cheekbones, but he didn't care. All he cared about was Harry's warm body against his and how he finally could touch that arse he'd been dreaming about for weeks. Before he slid his hands down there, though, he forced himself to break the kiss.

Both were panting, but neither of them let go of each other. This was the time to say something serious, but George ended up saying, "Your glasses are fogged up."

Harry laughed. "Well, that was a pretty . . . steamy kiss."

"So, er, you like me, too?" It was rather stupid of him to ask, but he wanted to confirm it. He already had plenty of accidents to his name right now. He didn't want a misunderstanding to be on his long list of bloopers.

Harry nodded. "Yes, I've liked you for a while, too, and I wanted to say something to you, but you acted like you weren't really interested, so I was waiting for you to make a move."

"So essentially, we were both liking each other, but neither of us really had the balls to say anything."

"That sounds about right." Harry blushed. "I was really thinking you might have been interested in me on the day when that machine got me wet . . . but when you just dried me off, I thought I was wrong."

George groaned and turned red. "Trust me. I was very, very interested in your wet state that time. It was all I could do to not jump you that day."

"It's a shame you didn't."

George's entire body temperature intensified at that comment, making his tongue melt. So instead of saying anything, he just pulled Harry into another deep and passionate kiss.

And that was as far as they went that night. George -- through his twin connection -- was told to not go fast like a Thestral on speed, and he reluctantly agreed with that notion. Though his libido protested against him, he had no desire to fuck -- no puns intended! -- things up between him and Harry. He'd had to go through many trials to get him, so he'd do things right. In fact, before they parted that night, they planned their first date -- Harry invited him to his house, and they were to have a Terminator marathon. George had no idea what a Terminator marathon was, but he looked forward to it.

He also looked forward to making things up with Fred. He felt silly for trying to isolate himself from his twin. He realised that while things were different now that they were adults, they'd always be there for each other, and they'd always be close.

 _Besides, payback's a Boggart. It's time to give Fred and Angelina a taste of their own potion!_


End file.
